One Way Down This Road
by telayla
Summary: When all is said and done, maybe they'll have something that was worth the struggle. France/Poland. Music inspired, chronological drabbles.


HI GUYS.

So...yeah, I ship this. :'D I love it a lot.

Anyway, what I did was I put my mp3 player on shuffle, and wrote for the length of whatever song was playing. Each one of these little chunks is an expanded version of what was written to whatever random song, save for the last one. I picked that song out. ;P It's also what the title is from! :D

Here's the list if you want it!

1. This Love - Maroon 5

2. Both Ways - Quietdrive

3. Before the Worst - The Script

4. The Mess I Made - Parachute

5. Fallout - Marianas Trench

6. All That I Am - Parachute

7. Love Like Rockets - Angels & Airwaves

8. Timebomb - All Time Low

* * *

><p><em>- Kept playing love like it was just a game, pretending to feel the same, then turn around and leave again-<em>

Their relationship wasn't a healthy one, not by any stretch of the imagination. Everyone knew that. It was a constant hurricane of prideful power struggles and childish behavior. Their fights were a near daily occurrence. France would flirt or do something else to deliberately upset Poland, who would retaliate with hurtful words and self-indulgent pouting.

Even so, no matter how many times they argued, no matter how many times they frustrated and hurt each other, the storm would always pass and they'd find their way back together. Time and time again silent apologies were exchanged between kisses, and for a while, it seemed they were happy.

_-Don't take the chance, you'll surely pass. At least someday we'll know the reason why-_

Over time, Francis's flirtations escalated into one-night affairs, sometimes drunken, sometimes not. Of course Feliks was aware of them. Francis had always been one for wandering hands and roaming eyes, and the fact that he had been faithful at all was something of a wonder to him.

Eventually his infidelities just became an unspoken part of their relationship. Poland told himself that it didn't matter how many times Francis stayed out all night with someone else. It didn't matter if France loved others with his _body_. What mattered was that with his_ heart_ he only loved _Feliks, _that he always came back to _Feliks_.

It would still hurt, though.

Oh, how it would hurt when he would take off Francis's shirt to find marks from someone else's lips. But for both their sakes, no matter how much it repulsed him to do so, he would always cover them with his own mouth, leaving marks of his own. He hated the idea of someone else touching Francis in the same way, hated that other people had had access to what should have been such a private part of their relationship.

France knew exactly what he was doing to Poland. After an encounter with anyone besides the other nation, he felt sick. He hated himself for knowing that Poland would forgive him, that no matter what, they'd carry on like nothing had ever happened. They would continue to live in denial of this thing that was, in truth, hurting them both.

In the end, it was brought into the open by Francis. A few cruel and carefully chosen words during an argument made it so that Feliks couldn't deny it anymore.

When Poland left that day, he didn't come back, and Francis didn't follow him.

_- And the only chance we have of moving on was trying to take it back before it all went wrong-_

"We need to talk."

"I've got like, nothing to say to you." Poland snapped, immediately regretting it. He hadn't wanted to let the Frenchman see how upset he was. He hadn't wanted to give him the satisfaction. In an attempt to regain his composure, he flipped his hair and turned to leave.

France grabbed the other nation's arm, effectively halting his escape. Feliks slowly turned his head to stare at him incredulously. Francis thought with bitter irony that this was one of the only times he'd ever seen the Poland's eyes so wide, save when he had first asked him out.

"For once, Feliks, won't you consider the idea that someone _other than yourself _might have something to say?"

Poland made an irritated noise. "Francis, get lost."

"I will not." France huffed, releasing Poland and crossing his arms. "Not until I know where we stand."

Feliks wrinkled his nose. "You're like, a piece of work, you know that?" He snorted.

France watched Poland carefully. "You love me for it."

Poland sighed and shook his head. The corners of his mouth turned up into a small, somewhat sad smile. "I totally do."

_-I should've spoken up, I should've proudly claimed that, oh, my head's to blame for all my heart's mistakes-_

In matters of romance, Francis usually adored clichés.

Unfortunately, the screaming at each other in the rain was one he'd hoped to avoid.

He swallowed, staring at the ground just in front of Feliks. "So, that's it, then?" The rain was running into France's eyes, but he didn't blink. He feared that when he did, Poland would have disappeared when his eyes opened again.

"Yeah. Yeah, that's it." Poland nodded, trying to catch his breath. His wet hair was sticking to his face, and Francis desperately wanted to reach out and brush it away. He wanted to kiss Feliks's skin and hold him until the rain stopped and then maybe everything would be okay again. But Poland was speaking again. "Francis I…I don't wanna do it anymore. I _can't_ do it anymore. I tried really, really hard, you know?"

Somewhere in his mind, where he could deny this was even happening, France marveled absently at Feliks's lack of the use of 'like.'

"Please don't do this." He heard his own voice break. "Please don't go."

Poland gazed at him with a mixture of hurt and exhaustion.

"Francis." He said quietly, and France looked up at him pleadingly, hopefully. Poland sighed and ran his tongue across his upper lip in thought. "I was never even here to begin with. You…you never let me."

Before Francis could find a way to respond, to deny it, Feliks was gone.

_- It's easy to say it's for the best, when you want more, while you leave me with less-_

"Well, that was fast." Francis murmured, raising an eyebrow, hoping he didn't sound as bitter and jealous as he felt.

Poland stopped walking and glared at him, planting his hands on his hips and waiting for the corridor to empty of other nations. "What are you even like, talking about?"

"Nothing." France said lightly, shrugging. "Just that you seem eager to slip back into Lithuania's bed."

Feliks flushed. So what if he'd been spending more time with Toris? He just needed some support from his friends right now. "Okay, even if that were true, it would be like, _none of your business _who I sleep with!"

Francis raised his eyebrows and the corners of his mouth twitched at the other nation's reaction to his taunting. "I'm just saying, you're certainly as…affectionate with him as you were years ago. Perhaps you're not as skilled in seduction as _I _let you believe, or maybe-"

"I'm not fucking Liet!" Poland interrupted him with a shriek.

"Oh?" France sneered. "I wonder why."

"Because I'm not as easy as you, Francis." Poland shot back. "I'm not the type to like, sleep with someone I don't have romantic feelings for. That would be you."

"Funny. Could have fooled me, what with how easily you tossed me aside." France said cruelly.

Poland couldn't decide what he wanted to do more, cry or punch him.

So he did both.

_- But the fog just sits like blankets, and it's drowning out the glow. You can hear voices loud and singing out, a song nobody knows-_

"Are you happy?" After nearly a year, Francis finally found the courage to ask Poland.

Feliks sighed, his breath visible in the cold air. He'd hoped France wouldn't try to talk to him at this year's winter conference. "Don't ask me that, Francis."

"Are you?" France pressed, trying to keep from getting distracted by the way snowflakes caught in Poland's hair.

Feliks didn't answer, staring at any part of Francis but his face. His shoulder, his hands, his boots. After a moment, he shrugged.

"There are…different types of happiness." He said finally.

France thought the unusually wise statement sounded odd in Poland's girly accent. "Which type are you, then?" He asked.

Poland shook his head. "I like, didn't say I was any of them."

_-_ _I kissed you first, then you kissed my ear. If I ask you once, will you ask me every year?-_

Prussia was hosting a New Year's party. Or rather, Germany was hosting one because Italy had asked, and Gilbert had taken over.

Francis, despite attempts to convince himself otherwise, had continued to catch himself searching for a certain blonde nation with lidded green eyes. Usually at parties like this, he'd be busy mingling with the other or, more likely, causing some sort of ruckus with Antonio and Gilbert. But tonight, he continued to find himself playing the wallflower.

He wasn't entirely surprised when Hungary slid up next to him. He noted that she wasn't carrying her signature frying pan, and she held up her hands in a gesture of peace.

"I know you're looking for him." She said, following his gaze into the crowd. France grimaced.

"I don't know what you're talking about." He sniffed. If that was what she was after, he was in no mood to play her games.

"He isn't here, you know." She continued.

France felt himself deflate, and hoped she didn't notice. "Oh."

"He's upstairs." Francis's eyes widened, and he stared at her. Hungary glanced sideways, meeting his gaze evenly. "You know where the guest room is. Said he needed to get away for a bit. So. You should probably go find him."

France muttered a thank you and was gone.

_- And if I had to pull you out of the wreckage, you know I'm never gonna let you let me go- _

Poland had seen France looking for him. Of course he had, since he'd been watching Francis carefully the entire night. How better to avoid him? So he'd said something to Elizaveta about feeling claustrophobic and snuck off.

He had spent nearly an hour lying on the bed in the Germany's guest bedroom before becoming restless. He'd only just stepped out onto the room's small balcony when he heard the door open. Feliks closed his eyes. He didn't need to turn around to know who had followed him.

"You're missing the party." France said simply.

"Oh, what, like you were totally enjoying it yourself?" Poland leaned forward, resting against the low wall of the balcony.

Francis hummed, crossing the room slowly. He stopped when he saw Feliks tense. "I would have. But you were up here." As soon as he said it, France mentally berated himself. In his nervousness, he'd reverted to flirting.

"Francis." Poland shook his head almost imperceptibly. "You like, don't get to say that anymore."

France closed the distance between them as Poland turned. He placed his hands on either side of Feliks, caging him in against the balcony ledge. "Why not?"

Poland had to tilt his head back to look up at him. "You totally know why."

"Is it impossible…" France paused to risk pressing his forehead against Feliks's. "Is it impossible for me to…prove myself to you? I…would understand if it's too much to ask for a second chance."

Poland turned to face the other nation with a shaky laugh. "More like, millionth chance."

Francis allowed himself a small smile, leaning in a little more. "Alright. Millionth chance."

Feliks sighed softly. Francis felt the warm air brush against his lips. "I don't know, France. I don't want to like, get swept away again and like, let you get away that stuff again." His green gaze met France's blue. "Cheating has like…never been cool."

"I know." Francis said seriously. "I will never be able to express how truly sorry I am to you."

From downstairs, they heard America loudly announce the beginning of the countdown to the New Year.

Poland blinked up at Francis. "I don't know…" He whispered again. He reached up to hold onto France's arms. Half of him was desperate for Francis to convince him, and the other half was terrified that he would.

America's voice carried as he began the countdown. Other nations quickly began to join in, cheering in their own languages.

"Feliks."

Poland was suddenly horribly aware of how dangerous this was. France was pressed against him, pinning him to the ledge. His hands tightened their grip on Francis's arms. He didn't want to be hurt again. He didn't want to hope for something he'd inevitably lose. "Promise you'll never trick me again."

"I swear." France said earnestly.

Poland searched his face for a moment, before allowing his eyes to slide shut just as the party goers below reached the end of their countdown. Several fireworks were set off, surely belonging to either Gilbert or Alfred.

Francis hesitated for the shortest of moments, before closing the distance between their mouths. Poland's arms wrapped around Francis's neck to pull him closer. For his part, France framed Feliks's face with his hands, gently stroking Feliks's cheekbones with his thumbs. When they finally parted, both with pink cheeks and shiny lips, France eyed Poland's face, searching for any regret.

"I swear." He repeated solemnly.

Poland smiled at him. He didn't smirk; he flashed that brilliant, wonderful smile that made Francis's heart flutter. "You're totally dumb." He teased.

France relaxed against Poland, leaning down to press his face against the other nation's neck. "That, my dear, is something I know all too well."

Feliks reached up to wind his fingers through Francis's hair. He shivered, feeling Francis's stubble scrape against his skin. "It's okay, though. I guess this like, probably makes me totally dumb too."

France moved up to kiss away Poland's laughter as soon as it began.

* * *

><p>THIS IS PROBABLY FULL OF TYPOS :'D<p>

I had trouble with the word program =n= It kept shutting down

Anyway if you spot any, please let me know!


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